My mage was in Stratholme live side. Er. Newly dead side. Scarlet? I never liked that name for some reason. Well anyway, on the side with the Scarlets, demon boss, and no Baron Rivendare.
As luck would have it, the courier and his keys were looted by that warrior. You know the one. The DPS who constantly pulls by accident. Dies a lot. Cannot follow basic directions like "don't release."
I'd managed to get postman's pants earlier, so I had some interest in summoning him again. That 50 armor two piece bonus is just simply awesome. I mean, 50 armor! I know, jaw-dropping.
I'd taken note of the keys he had and managed to steer the group toward The Unforgiven, clearing space around one of the boxes. Somehow I got him to click it despite his protests that he had no keys. One down. We pushed on to the next box, driven by my claims of a boss, which were true, since Hearthsinger Piccolo was over there. I had a leftover key, so I did that box.
Then we somehow got sidetracked by the non-mailbox parts of the instance and I was afraid that all hope was lost. Thankfully the healer DCed and the tank and warrior got themselves killed. We went back to get them, since he was vulnerable to rats and gargoyle spawns. Hope returns! I seized the moment to ask what other keys he had. None. Two. One? What's a key?
Don't tell, show. Don't show, drag over by the ear and MAKE THEM. I decided to try "proof by brute force", a technique most notable for proving something about map coloring, but in my case, to prove that he had at a minimum one key left. So click this mail box. And there we go, a trio of undead with ridiculously high spell resist. The ring dropped, the priest healer won the roll, I felt a bit sad. Then I noticed that she had a really old ring from early Gnomerganan, so then I didn't feel so bad. She told me to wait, informed me that she couldn't use the ring yet due to level, and traded it to me. I thanked her and felt happy again (woo pixels!).
She had to go shortly after. She left too soon for my advice that if her baby had woken that a bit of whiskey could fix that. Either for the baby or her. Cure-all, even if it tastes awful. Seriously, who got the idea of drinking what is essentially rubbing alcohol poured through charcoal? I guess the same people who thought to drink old milk (cheese), spoiled grapes (wine), and grain which has been rotting in standing water (beer).
You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink, though you can shove its head under until it gets the idea.